he woke with something some thing
gleaming near his eye
bits of anxious phosphorescence
white broken
the sheen of his warm dreaming hadnt set it was busy still plastic
then it hardened granular
congealing into disparate shards
and busier
then it stilled no
inert
it glimpsedlooked at him
it shivered in his compound-insecteyes
he didnt know if it was one thing or many incarnates of that thing
then fixed assured
in midair turningtumbling
he could see its edges serrated broken honeycombed edges
they softened briefly morphed
pale bonecoloured wax
and soothed it evolved
turned into reflective drops that grew heavy gained mass
and fell like rain or blood or oil
and falling
disturbed that which lay under
it which he could not see
he could not lower or avert his
eyes
all he could do was witness them
becoming fewer and fewer in the space before him
a cool bluing
molting dream
it was maddening to be unable to
see how it manifested itself into or onto whatever it fell
soon
the space before his eyes
emptied
it released
his head so he could look down
though before he did
he saw the plain
eggshell-white plane of his bedroom wall rematerialise it filling in behind where the particles the
vapour had vacated
then his eyes released he looked down where the remnants fell
he was
strangely then upright at his feet he saw
figueres sitting jocular outside a Church of Cruel Intent smoking handrolled cigarettes
fingering the necks of brown and white spirits the bottles hanging mute and
dumb from their filthy hands their fingernails outlined in grim and soot unwashed
they wiped their runny noses on
the bare backs of their hands
the dull afternoon sun congealed
on them then fell like vapid sodden moths when they raised their hands to
their faces to have a draught of liquor or a drag off their cigarettes
they thought they were thugs
no one could correct them of their thinking
and
thinking longer and longer they were it became etched in their faces and
apparent there was no way anyone could ever convince them otherwise
they were hard white shiny comets
committed in a black night (romantic
-- though not that they would use
the word they didnt know it) as they
imagined and saw themselves
they leaned against the sides and
doors of parked cars against patched and stitched panels of sanded rustcoloured
bonding
they growled and jeered at people
who huddled inside buildings that surrounded them behind lighted windowpanes and
pale translucent curtains
they owned the night
they had driven the cowardly
indoors into the clutch of their sanctuaries (though they wouldnt use that word
either because they didnt know it) had driven them inside to cower and hide
behind ramparts behind thick walls and heavy doors because they knew they
wouldnt risk the street and feared the cloak of darkness
they were Light people
shadows washed over the thugs staining
rippling them darker briefly
swift flying things that disassembled if he tried to look up at them finding nothing except indefined smudges if that
they didnt seem aware of the
things that passed silently over their heads
he realised then that he could see
only those things that wanted to be seen
abpresences who deliberated thoughtful
without a coily mess of brains or confined or imprisoned within meaty
bodies
if they didnt need them Why he
ascertained would they
Clever
clever soul-magpies mages
beginning to realise his purpose
was to be a watcher a slovenly voyeur Allowed to See a Seer
his strength seeped out of his arms
they fell to his sides
his knuckles banged on his bed
but banging they found something
hard under them
something that hadnt been there
when he went to bed and like magnets
they drew his gaze pulled on it as
deliberate as his arms quit
under his bruised knuckles
under his eyes
he saw two handguns
an Old West revolver under his
right
a Blackhawk under his left
beside each gun on the chenille
bedspread lay two bullets
haphazard he took one revolver then the other and loaded
their chambers
he held them by their wood grips
turned his wrists familiarised himself to their dead weight
he drew the hammer back on the
Blackhawk its click sharp
its cry warmed the thugs who turned to its sound
they saw
him standing guns drawn
seeing him out among them spiked
their blood
they crouched and growled like wolves
they raced towards him
the Church of Cruel Intent impelling them On towards this vagrant On at
this puny man who hadnt sense to stay holed up in the light in the storeys
above their dark streets
running towards him some quicker than others their ranks broke
their shoeleather beating the concrete and cobblestones
their chaotic soles scuffing pounding the pavement sounded and roiled in
him reminded him a reverie the indecent act which preceded and forced him out
onto the street
an act that horrified
the LightOnes the Cowerers Pewsitters
in a churchs basement he found a
longhandle candlelighter cobwebbed and dusty
he lashed a broad scrapper to its
head and returning to its nave he then went up and down the aisles closest the
outside walls scrapping away their elaborate details
upending from their hooks
their paintings of the Stations of the Cross and as they were scrapped and
tumbled they turned black as rot and mould and fell in flakes and fronds and
concentric clots some heavy and crashing at his feet others whirled idled in the quiet somber golden air the pews moaned violated quaked with remorse but submitted
he removed himself
outside the
thugs were thick without suspicion armed to the teeth feeling invincible as thugs would
and why not
they
had the numb-ers
the venality
callousness
an
utter powerful carelessness
as the numb-ers raced towards
him separately no phalanxes or flanks
one man a single man
a head of the rest most
suicidal grinning sardonically a gleaming skull slowed to a walk
as he came forward he dragged his
thumb across the long blade he carried
his prints their whorls and loops played like a soft-sounding record
holding his ground to the thugs
approach he casually raised his left arm
to shoulder height leveling the Ruger
six-shooter and squeezed the trigger
it CLICKd the firstchamber empty
the thug flinched
momentarily then mouthed Bluff
the secondchamber CLICKd empty
more thugs had caught up and
stood watching they began to laugh
the first suicidal began to draw
his blade back to strike laughing with the rest
those that had handguns began to
draw them from their belts
before pulling the trigger a
third time he smiled
he stepped forward to meet their
onslaught
the Blackhawk still extended
his strides in cadence with their
ha --
ha -- ha -- has
. . .
the thirdchamber BARKED
the thugs
head exploded
showered egg-shell bits of skull
brain-meat face-meat
whips of long hair
the bullet passes through the
bloodmist and gore and tacked to meet the next thugs skull and the next
from skull to grinning skull
shattering shattering
the street sounding echoing smashed china
as the smashing went on and on he
raised his right and fired it into the face of a shocked suicider a youth who had closed on him with a stiletto
and readied to stab him in the ribs
perhaps the youth expected a
CLICK
the Old West revolver threw its
bullet on a tongue of orange flame scorching the kids face his forehead bubbled before the bullet smashed
his wideeyed countenance and exited the ruin curving to find its next target
the night air a cacophony of
blasted china over seeping sounds and gutters gurgles
he fired the other two bullets to
assist the first and second
they whined pitifully until they
found their marks and made their slaughter
he didnt know the bullets would
be as they were
he knew only that he had four and with those four he thought at
the least he could infect the figueres the thugs with the thought that behind
him would someday come another and another and others and that they would know
they wouldnt always be able to beleaguer the LightOnes the Cowerers for inside them brooded darker souls who
wouldnt wait for their god to vanquish their enemies
he didnt know
he was grateful
he didnt
prostrate himself
when night collapsed to the eerie sounds
that would have followed a soothing rain that hadnt fallen and the birds quieted themselves again in their roosts
when the moon uncovered her eyes
he let the revolvers fall to the
street
listened to their clatter run its echoes off the rows of houses and
building faces
their sound running the length of the canyons and fadingfaded
he stooped and swept up the bits of broken
ivory-coloured skullbones in blankets and shook them up into the sky where
stars remembered their memories and
they parted to embrace these memories imbued in bone
communing in their forever
and eternal black maw knowing it could never be filled or satiated the stars happily received their fresh
communions
conceived
0647, Moanday, 11 4.
16
1517, Moanday,
18 4. 16
Desiderii Marginis - the sweet hereafter /
procession (live @ Petit Bain - 11 mai 2013)
